


your little extra's a little endearing

by sublime_jumbles



Category: Pushing Daisies
Genre: (kinda), Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Chubby Kink, F/M, Fluff, Overeating, Touching by Proxy, Weight Gain, chubby!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:49:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2688305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sublime_jumbles/pseuds/sublime_jumbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>post-Thanksgiving fic because I dropped the ball on Halloween fic this year. </p><p> <i>After a minute or so, he gives his stomach a little rub and slowly gets up to put his plate in the sink, and Chuck poises herself to dash back to bed before he catches her watching. But after a couple seconds of hesitation, he moves toward the fridge, and Chuck’s eyes widen as he retrieves the Tupperware of mashed potatoes and takes a spoon out of the drawer next to the dishwasher.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	your little extra's a little endearing

Chuck leaves a plate of dinner in the oven for Ned, in case he’s hungry when he comes home from his stakeout with Emerson. Nothing too special, just leftovers from the holiday – having never been in charge of a Thanksgiving dinner before, she vastly overestimated how much food she’d need to cook, and the fridge is still packed with squash and stuffing and mashed potatoes a few days later.

She’s woken a few hours later by Digby barking happily, and assumes Ned must be home. She hears him open and close the oven, then the microwave, and rolls out of bed to greet him once she hears it beep.

He doesn’t hear her approaching, and something makes her stop just out of his sightline as she makes her way down the hall. His attention is completely focused on the plate of food in front of him.

She peers around the corner down the hallway. He’s sitting so that she sees him in profile, and his position emphasizes the pooch of his belly over his waistband, the softness under his jaw. He barely pauses to breathe as he eats, like he’s afraid someone’s going to take it away from him. 

She watches, rapt, as he scrapes the last off his plate, then leans back to catch his breath. Even from her spot in the hallway, she can hear the soft burps, the small whine that escapes him. Her whole body feels hot, and her fingers tighten around the wall moulding.

After a minute or so, he gives his stomach a little rub and slowly gets up to put his plate in the sink, and Chuck poises herself to dash back to bed before he catches her watching. But after a couple seconds of hesitation, he moves toward the fridge, and Chuck’s eyes widen as he retrieves the Tupperware of mashed potatoes and takes a spoon out of the drawer next to the dishwasher.

Once the potatoes have been microwaved, he stands in front of the sink and wolfs them down like a starving man, shoveling spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. Chuck holds her breath, thinking about all the butter and heavy cream that went into the recipe. _Only for the holidays_ , Aunt Vivian used to say, _because they’re so rich_.

She sees the shock dawn on his face when he realizes he’s eaten all of it – enough for four generous helpings, she thinks – and bites down on her lip. There’s nothing she likes more than the soft squishiness of Ned’s belly, but seeing it all taut and full like this – that gets her in a different place.

As he’s scrubbing the plate and container, she slips back to bed, though not before stealing a last glimpse of his belly resting on the counter.

She slits her eyes open when Ned comes in and turns on his lamp, biting the inside of her cheek as he shucks his slacks and sweater for the sweatpants and t-shirt at the end of the bed. His stomach looks hard and bloated, stretch marks pale pink in the dim light, and he changes slowly before easing himself into bed. He groans low in his throat, and Chuck’s heart skips.

He turns out the lamp, and she hears him rustling in the sheets, trying to get comfortable. She hears him burp, then sigh, then burp again, a little louder. She thinks about how full he must be, after stuffing himself like that, and accidentally lets out a little whimper of her own.

“Chuck?” he says softly, and she freezes in bed.

“Hi,” she says after a moment.

“I didn’t realize you were still up,” he says, and she hears him adjust his position. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I couldn’t sleep,” she lies. “How did the investigation go?”

Ned burps gently before replying. “Excuse me,” he says, and she imagines his cheeks flushing. “It was a success,” he continues. “We figured out that he lives with his brother, not with his mom, so that raises some questions about who the cat belongs to, but now we know where to investigate next.”

Chuck rolls onto her side, facing his bed. “Good!” she says. “Did you find the dinner I left for you?”

“Yes,” he says, and she squirms.

“How was it?”

“Delicious. Even better today.”

“Yeah?” she asks, heat spreading through her. “What was the best?”

He’s silent for a moment. “Definitely the potatoes.”

She swallows hard, but before she can say anything, he goes on, “I might have … overdone it a little on the potatoes, actually.”

She rocks her hips a little, testing the warmth between them. “Tell me.”

He reaches over and turns on his lamp, and sure enough, his cheeks are rosy with sheepishness. “Come here,” he says. “I’ll show you.”

She gets her gloves from the nightstand drawer – they go up to her elbows, sleek and black, and they’re thick enough to protect but thin enough so that she can still feel the heat of his skin – and carefully joins him on the bed. He folds his arms behind his head so they’re out of her way, and squirms a little as she pulls his sheets down past his knees and settles herself over his legs.

His t-shirt doesn’t even cover his stomach, he’s so bloated. She pushes up the fabric so it sits on top of his belly, and puts her gloved hands on his skin. It’s hot, and he makes a low sound when she applies a little pressure.

“Does that hurt?” she asks, and he nods.

“A little. It’s okay, though. It doesn’t hurt because of you.”

“Oh,” she says, “ _oh_. I’ll be gentle.”

“Thanks.” He smiles, sinks back into his pillow, adjusts his hips a little. “Maybe you could … keep rubbing it.”

She smoothes her fingers over his hard stomach, marveling at how different it is from the soft muffin top she watches him jostle and squeeze into his pants every morning. He’s taken to buttoning them underneath the little swell lately; he blushed and said it was just easier when she poked it with the end of a rolling pin the other day. She’d wanted to kiss it then, reassure him that she found his little bit of extra endearing, but he’d swept off to cater a special order and hadn’t finished until after she’d fallen asleep that night. So now, she rolls his shirt back down and presses kisses all over it, keeping her hands on the exposed underside of his belly. He groans.

“Good?” she asks, looking up, and he nods.

“Really good,” he says, breath hitching, and she kisses his stomach again before getting his shirt out of the way.

“You feel so full,” she murmurs, massaging over his stretch marks, over the spots on his sides where his belly is still a little soft. “The potatoes were that good, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” he grunts, fidgeting under her. “Oof – Chuck –”

“Too hard?” she asks, laying her hands flat on his stomach.

“Just a little,” he says, cheeks flushed. “Maybe we could cuddle instead? I might fall asleep on you like this.”

She smiles. “Of course,” she says. “Get up for a second and I’ll get the bed ready.”

She stands on the mattress and unrolls the thin plastic sheet he rigged to the ceiling, pulling it down between them and securing it to each end of the bed. She grabs the two afghans Emerson knit them, which Ned keeps at the end of his bed, and places one on each side of the plastic before getting comfortable on hers. Through the plastic, she watches Ned yawn, rub his belly absently, stifle a hiccup behind his fist.

“You take that side,” she says, heart swelling. “I want to hold you.”

He smiles and obliges, slowly lowering himself back into bed. She pulls off her gloves and curls her body around his, slipping one arm into the plastic sleeve so she can tuck him against her. Her hand finds the firm curve of his belly, and she rubs it in slow circles, the plastic crinkling.

Ned hiccups again. “I’m glad you were awake,” he says, loud enough for her to hear through the plastic.

“Me too,” she replies. “There’s still plenty of leftover desserts, if you want to do this again.”

She can almost feel him blush. “Maybe a little more athletically?” he says, “with more plastic wrap?” and she presses her chin to his shoulder and nods so he can feel her say yes.


End file.
